


in your fantasy, dream about me

by theglitterati



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: Akaashi and Bokuto spend their nights alone, thinking of each other.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 125





	1. Akaashi

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from "Emotion" by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Akaashi was getting ready for bed when he saw it: a swath of dark blue against his grey sheets, discarded where Bokuto had sat a few hours earlier. His sweatshirt, the thin one he wore at practice on cold days. Akaashi owned one, too, clean and folded in his dresser drawer.

He stared at it, as thought it might speak. Had Bokuto left it on purpose? Surely not. Much more likely was that he forgot all about it when he took it off — Akaashi definitely not staring as the tshirt underneath rode up over his stomach — the same as he did with his keys, his notebooks, his phone. It was silly of Akaashi to imbue it with meaning it didn’t have.

He ignored it the way you might ignore a tornado ripping through your house as he brushed his teeth, laid out his uniform, stripped to his underwear and pulled back the covers on the bed. He picked it up, running the light material through his fingers. He’d fold it, give it back to Bokuto the next day. Maybe he should text him to let him know he’d forgotten it? No, Bokuto was probably already asleep. It was unnecessary.

It was also unnecessary for Akaashi to bury his face in the fabric, inhaling Bokuto’s scent until his lungs threatened to burst, but he did it anyway.

The smell was overpowering, not just the body spray Bokuto insisted on using but _him,_ the heady scent of the work he’d done while wearing it. He hadn’t showered after practice, and Akaashi was glad. It was enough to make his gut stir, an idea forming in his head. 

What Bokuto didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?

Without answering that question, Akaashi slipped the shirt over his head, smoothing it against his chest. It was big on him, two sizes bigger than his own. He climbed into bed, tugging the blankets up to his chin and turning off the light.

He pulled the shirt over his nose and the sleeves down over his hands, hugging himself tightly. It was easier, in the dark, with Bokuto’s smell flooding his senses, to pretend the arms around him weren’t his own. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time staring at Bokuto’s arms, both on the court, where he had reason to, and off. He wanted those arms around him, holding him by the waist, the shoulders. Planted on either side of him as Bokuto hovered over him on the bed, trapping him beneath him.

Akaashi gripped himself through his underwear, gasping sharply at his own touch. He yanked his boxers off and tossed them on the floor, wrapping his hand around his hardening cock.

Bokuto’s touch would be rougher than his own, less efficient. He’d experiment, find out what Akaashi liked and repeat it; a pinched nipple, a gentle smack on the ass. He was a quick physical learner and excessively confident, exactly what Akaashi needed in a partner. He wanted Bokuto to call the shots, to draw him out of his shell.

His sleeve fell over his hand and Akaashi pulled it back just in time to keep it out of the precome leaking from his cock. He wiped his hands on his bare legs and rolled the sleeves carefully, rucking the shirt’s hem up and out of danger. He was getting closer now; he’d need to be careful. He shivered as he touched himself again, legs spreading unconsciously.

 _For you,_ he thought, the Bokuto in his mind going slack-jawed, eyeing him appraisingly. Would he find Akaashi sexy, splayed out in front of him like this? Would he want him?

Bokuto’s hands or mouth would be welcome treats, but given the choice, Akaashi knew what he wanted: for Bokuto to fuck him senseless.

A hand drifted lower, teasing his hole. He had lube, tucked between the mattress and wall, but he worried about getting it on the shirt; it wasn’t the easiest thing to wash out, he’d discovered. Instead, he slicked his fingers with precome — there was plenty — and pushed two deep inside himself.

He wasn’t gentle, but fucking himself, adding another finger when he could, wasn’t enough. Bokuto had no qualms about walking around the locker room naked, and though Akaashi averted his eyes, he’d seen enough to know three fingers didn’t compare, couldn’t replicate the stretch, the fullness he wanted so badly.

He’d never had sex before, knew Bokuto hadn’t either, but the image was clear in his mind. He drew it up now, as heat built between his legs, the hand on his cock speeding up. Bokuto above him, face tight with concentration as he thrust into him, the thick length of him filling Akaashi to the hilt. He wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t stop until Akaashi was writhing, tightening around him as he reached the edge.

 _Let go, Akaashi,_ he said. _I’ve got you._

Akaashi came hard, body arching as he held back a scream. He bucked into his hand, jamming his fingers as deep into himself as possible, jabbing his prostate until he was spent and overstimulated.

The guilt at what he’d done came, though not as much as he expected. He’d spilled onto his hand and chest, but the shirt was clean, and Bokuto wouldn’t know a thing. He’d even get up early and wash it before giving it back to him, a strange, silent thank you.

He made a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up before crawling back into bed. He kept the shirt on; it seemed silly to take it off just to sleep. The scent was less powerful now, replaced with his own, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

This time, when Akaashi wrapped his arms around himself, he imagined Bokuto holding him, the two of them curling up in bed together. It was something he pictured often, more than those same arms holding him down. He drifted to sleep thinking of a warm body against his, a whispered _sweet dreams, Keiji_ in the darkness.


	2. Bokuto

Bokuto was halfway home when he realized he’d left his sweatshirt at Akaashi’s. He had been wondering why he was so cold; wearing nothing but a tshirt in October would do that. He paused. Should he go back and get it?

Nah. It wasn’t like he’d need it tonight, and Akaashi would definitely bring it to school tomorrow. He always found the things Bokuto lost. It was one of the many things Bokuto liked about him.

He hurried home, listing the other things he liked about Akaashi in his head: he was smart, he was kind. He teased Bokuto, but never talked down to him. He was funny. He was pretty.

He opened his front door. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and think more about how pretty Akaashi was, but his family immediately accosted him.

“You’re late!”

“Have you had dinner?”

“Why are you only wearing a tshirt, Koutarou!?”

He escaped them after dinner (and dessert), claiming he was tired. Shutting his bedroom door, he peeled his clothes off and threw them in the direction of the hamper. Sleeping naked had its benefits — his parents and sisters had learned never to enter his room without knocking. 

He turned the lights off and flopped onto his unmade bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed his phone and opened the gallery. The pictures he wanted were hidden in a folder called  _ gym selfies _ — a decoy to scare off anyone looking at his phone — and then in another folder simply called  _ A.  _

A dozen pictures of Akaashi filled the screen, taken in different places at different times. In his school uniform on a sunny day, chocolate bar in hand. In his gym clothes, frowning at the camera (“put the phone away and practice, Bokuto-san!”). On the train in the morning, half-asleep but managing to give Bokuto the finger.

Bokuto opened his favourite, taken at the beach last summer. Akaashi lay in a lounge chair, a book open in one hand. He was topless, his abs and ridiculous tan lines on display, and he looked great, but that wasn’t why Bokuto liked it so much. It was because, for once, Akaashi was smiling, at the camera and Bokuto behind it.

Bokuto reached into his drawer for lube, popping the bottle and drizzling it into his hand without glancing away from the picture. He squirmed at the chill of it as he took his cock in hand.

If Akaashi was here, he’d do what he wanted to that day at the beach: pull him close, their bodies pressed against each other, and kiss him. He’d be gentle, at first, but if Akaashi let him, he’d kiss him harder, all over, his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders.

_ You’re beautiful, Akaashi, _ he’d say. He’d thought about the wording a lot, and he wanted to get it right: not  _ hot,  _ or _ sexy,  _ or _ cute, _ though Akaashi was all those things, but beautiful. If he was lucky, Akaashi might say he liked the way Bokuto looked, too. He could hear it in his voice:  _ I think you’re very handsome, Bokuto-san. _

Akaashi, Bokuto thought as the hand on his cock sped up, would be as good at kissing, at touching, as he was at everything else. He probably knew loads of things Bokuto didn’t; Bokuto’s mind reeled at the possibilities. Would he be gentle with him, fast, slow? Would he like the way Bokuto’s cock felt in his hands, long fingers circling it?

Would he— Bokuto moaned as the question invaded his mind, the one he always returned to during these nightly sessions.

_ Would Akaashi put his mouth on him? _

Bokuto flipped through his pictures, landing on one of Akaashi on the bus, on their way to an away game. Their coach had been talking, Akaashi listening intently while Bokuto fucked around on his phone. His mouth was open, lips parted as he stared forward. Bokuto zoomed in.

He had a slight obsession with Akaashi’s lips. Akaashi frowned a lot, his mouth a hard line, but when he didn’t, his lips were full and plush. They were always chapped and red where Akaashi bit them, but Bokuto didn’t mind.

He imagined Akaashi licking his lips, kneeling between Bokuto’s legs on the bed, his naked body taught and pointed. There would be a furrow in his brow the way there always was when he concentrated, stroking Bokuto experimentally before lowering his head. Bokuto paused, liberally pouring lube into his hand until it dripped, readying himself for what came next.

He made a loose fist and brought it down over himself, his mind replacing his hand with Akaashi’s mouth. Bokuto cried out, biting his shoulder to keep himself quiet. His hand, slicked up like this, felt amazing — how loud would he get at the feeling of Akaashi’s mouth, warm and wet, his head between Bokuto’s thighs?

His hips rolled as he pictured Akaashi blowing him, shoulder blades drawing together as he bent forward, taking more of Bokuto into his mouth. He’d slide his tongue up the underside of his cock, suck on the head before plunging back down, hollowing his cheeks. 

Bokuto dropped his phone in the sheets, fucking into his hand. He was close, and he knew what he needed.

_ “Akaashi,” _ he whispered to the empty room. “Akaashi, look at me.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

The Akaashi in his mind looked up at him, blue eyes locking with his as he continued to bob his head, lips stretched obscenely around Bokuto’s cock. He didn’t stop, even as he tried to speak and couldn’t, mumbling something that sounded like  _ Bokuto-san. _

Bokuto came, shaking as he spent into his hand, leaving it wetter than before, and onto the sheets. He fell back against the pillows, trying to catch his breath.

With his clean hand, he picked up his phone, the picture of Akaashi on the bus still open. He smiled. He wondered if he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He just wished Akaashi was there with him.

Fuck, he’d made a mess. He wiped his hands and cock on the sheet and threw it on the floor. He’d wash it in the morning. He slept under only one blanket, but he wasn’t cold anymore, not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com!


End file.
